I miss the days of lost in cerulean and clouds,
even though searching for you came with a cost,
my mind ardently invented you as I lie on the ground.

moments screamed past me then, and there’s no getting them back,
yet I feel fulfilled when memories rush in,
blessed, some would say to forget what I lacked.

a path was forged, one I so desperately needed,
the voice inside me tasted like screaming –
to most it wouldn’t make sense but free, my friend, isn’t always freedom.



Anticipating success,
I’d bring you here,
Sit you down,
Then ask you to relax.
I’d teach,
Your hand,
How to be,
Near me.
Slowly guiding,
Finger tips,
Towards the place,
I’ve needed,
You to respond to,
And grown tired of,
Waiting for…
At your touch,
As your fingers,
Slowly weave,
With mine.
Allowing you,
To explore,
My warmth,
By finally,
Holding hands.